The Murder House
by kcsmutstation
Summary: Fear is healthy, but panic is deadly. Caroline Forbes would know, she's dead— sort of. But the man that haunts her, he definitely is. / "You see, love. We can only materialise in the rooms we were murdered in and you, sweetheart, you happen to have made yourself awful cozy in mine. What do they call it nowadays? Fate?" Klaroline. AU.


**a/n -** is it bad that this was inspired by The Simpsons?

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She loved — _loves_ — her mother. That's why she's doing this. That's why she's ruining her life.

"Just three months, Caroline," she hears her say, "it's only three months."

Rolling her eyes, she places her old pink teddy bear into one of the thousand cardboard boxes. She frowns and uses her pointer finger to push the piece of ear back into place. It falls the second she releases it and looks around her empty room. She huffs out her cheeks and rubs her hands along her knees before standing up. The bright pink walls blur to tatty blue wallpaper with random silver patterns sprawled across it. She looks around her new room with her lips pursed.

"That all of them, Carebear?"

"Yeah, thanks dad," she smiles half-heartedly at him as he sets the final box down. It's official, no going back now.

"Great! We'll see you at six for dinner then?" _we_; him, Steven and Scarlet. She crinkles her nose and flops down on the bed. If her mother hadn't made her promise to be nice then she would've slammed the door in his face — because _no_, she doesn't want to have dinner with her father and his boyfriend and the daughter that he left her for — but she smiles and nods because she never breaks her word.

Once alone, she falls back onto the — _her_ — bed and covers her face with a pillow. It feels soft and fluffy and the bed is extremely comfortable which makes her groan loudly. But for a second she can't think about the fact she was forced to move to a town in the middle of nowhere or how awkward the 'family' dinner will be or if her cell phone has reception or if her clothes will all fit in the wardrobe because, for that one second, she could've sworn someone sniffed her hair.

Of course there is no one there when she looks, but eyes can be deceiving can't they?

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Forks scrape plates and the news plays on in the background; something about upcoming storms— _go figure_. She'd have to come right in the middle of a massive freaking storm. No wifi— oh lord, why must you torture her this way?

"So, Care," oh, don't call her that. You're not allowed to call her that. "How do you like the place?" Is he referring to the creepy old mansion they are currently residing in? The one with the windows that don't open and creaking doors? The one with so many rooms you get lost trying to find your own feet? The one where she's on the other side of the house to everyone — "I know how you teenagers like your privacy." — so they most probably won't hear her if she screams?

"It's lovely, Steven," she smiles sarcastically then shoves a forkful of potato into her mouth. Scarlet snorts.

"Well, I'm glad you like it," he nods politely, "I'm sure you'll settle in just fine once you've made some friends at school."

"Can't wait," she replies. Bill sends her a warning look from across the table and she sticks out her tongue at him. His lips twitch but he covers it up quickly. That's her father; Mr. primp and proper.

This 'holiday' is going to be so much fun.

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She slams the door — not that they'd hear it from all the way across the house — and flops down on her bed, resuming her position from before, except this time she screams into the pillow. Her agitation is getting on her own nerves. She misses her friends already. Removing the pillow, she picks up her mobile phone from the bedside locker and flips it open. No bars. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Pushing herself from the bed with her knuckles, she holds the phone above her head and goes from being on her tip-toes to bending down to the ground trying to get signal. Groaning in frustration, she tosses her phone into one of the boxes, grabs her toothbrush and heads to the bathroom. The blue, blue bathroom. Matches her mood.

After efficiently scrubbing her teeth she heads toward her bed, removing her blouse in the process. The white fabric plops to the floor and her blue, blue jeans follow. She stretches her stiff — from stress, no doubt — limbs. She looses the cherry bra next. Half-heartedly pulling her summer nightdress over her head, she collapses onto the soft bed and stares at the ceiling. And she remembers. She remembers the 'good old days' where her mother and father would fight over who could push her on the swing and she'd tell them it didn't matter because they were both rubbish anyway. She remembers the proud smile her father would give her when she'd recite whatever the top story was in the newspaper that day to the neighbours from memory. She remembers when he left. He took her to a stable where she petted every single pony at least once because she didn't want to discriminate— because _that would be mean, daddy, and I don't like when people are mean._ She remembers the orange lollipop she held on the bench where she cried because her daddy was leaving her— she remembers never going there again.

"Motherfucking ponies," she snorts and closes her eyes. Her subconscious tells her to ignore what sounds like a chuckle.

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One word; school. Puppy dog eyes couldn't even save her from this— and that's saying something because they never failed her before.

"Hello I'm—" Picture perfect smile in place and emergency lipstick in reachable distance. Good, _good_.

"Caroline Forbes." The secretary deadpans.

"—new. Oh, yeah. How'd you know?" She tilts her head and the brunette rolls her eyes.

"It's kind of my job," she inspects her perfectly polished nails — Caroline wonders if there even is a salon in Mystic Falls and how soon she can be there — and tosses a bundle of papers at the blonde. Caroline clutches them, narrows her eyes and walks away.

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English, Maths and Spanish pass quickly. She receives stares from _everyone_. Because apparently no one moves to Mystic Falls. Like, ever. She sits alone at lunch— for the most part. Eats her cheese sandwich slowly then gobbles up her yogurt— almost.

"You'll get indigestion." A brunette sits on the stool on the opposite side of the lunch table. Caroline purses her lips then shoves another spoonful of yogurt into her mouth. "Just sayin'." The brunette nibbles on her own salad sandwich. "I'm Katherine by the way."

"Caroline." She studies the newcomer curiously. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She drawls and Katherine's lips twitch.

"You looked lonely," she shrugs, "thought I'd do you a favour."

"How kind of you." Caroline eyes her suspiciously. They continue to eat in silence for a few — _peaceful_ — seconds.

"So, how are you finding Mystic Falls?" Katherine asks.

"Fine," Caroline offers her a smile. "The school's pretty clean but my house is really creepy." Katherine perks up at this.

"Oh, you have to tell me what it's like!" She gushes and Caroline raises an eyebrow.

"What what's like?" The blonde questions.

"You know." Katherine tilts her head while nodding.

"No, Katherine. I don't know." She sighs.

"Oh, c'mon you _know_." Katherine grins cheekily then furrows her eyebrows at Caroline's expression. "You don't know?" Caroline shakes her head and Katherine takes a big bite of her sandwich.

"What?" Caroline demands. Katherine silently chews a tomato. "Katherine, tell me!"

"You're living in the murder house."

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She paces Scarlet's room, Scarlet's blue eyes follow the blonde's movement. The clock ticks in the background and the fire spits loudly. Scarlet rolls her eyes, leans forward and slams the book in her hand shut.

"Okay, out with it."

"This girl, Katherine, said this was, and I quote, 'the _murder_ house'," Caroline's eyes dramatically bulge with the word.

"I know," the brunette smirks, "cool, isn't it?"

"Co—" Caroline gapes, "_Cool_?! Did you listen to a word I just said?!"

"Oh calm down, would you?" Scarlet sits back in her chair with a yawn.

"Calm down? Seriously?!" The blonde demands.

"I'll only tell you the story if you sit back and have a Kit-Kat," she sings and Caroline growls before hesitantly plopping onto one of the red armchairs. She crosses her arms over her chest and gestures with her eyebrows for Scarlet to continue. "Okay, so, thousands of years ago, y'know when people had _really_ long hair and the guys wore skirts and their animals lived in people's houses and—"

"Scarlet." Caroline deadpans.

"Well, anyway, way back then there was a family that lived in this house, or hut or whatever it was called back then, and they were like," Scarlet rotates her finger around her ear, "insanely whacked up in the head. Their father wanted to make them immortal so he made his wife perform this spell, because she was a witch—"

"Of course she was," Caroline sighs.

"She called upon the ancient white oak, that was used to build this house, for life. But it didn't work the way he expected. She ended up binding them to the house and when they sacrificed the children as they slept — blood sacrifice, cool huh? — they didn't come back to life like they were suppose to. No, their bodies laid murdered for their neighbours to find," Scarlet raises her eyebrows with a smile and Caroline blinks at her.

"Is that it?" she asks

"It is said that even though their bodies were moved, their souls stayed to play," the brunette leans back into her chair and opens her book again.

"So, we're basically being haunted by crazy people," Caroline nods and throws her hands out by her side then heads for the door, "great." What she doesn't notice is the figure that sits in the chair she had just occupied.

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End file.
